


Soul Food

by frumious_bandersnatch



Series: Domestic WG (better series name to be thought of later) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fat Dean Winchester, Food Porn, Hhhh I don’t know what this is, M/M, Multi, Stuffing, Weight Gain, but it was fun to write, foodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumious_bandersnatch/pseuds/frumious_bandersnatch
Summary: Shameless horny key-smashing. I like writing food descriptions, so, uh, why the hell not? Just look at the tags.
Relationships: Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel, Mentioned Lucifer/Sam Winchester/Gabriel
Series: Domestic WG (better series name to be thought of later) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080914
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Soul Food

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, uh, this really isn’t what I usually write. I’m sorry if it doesn’t float your boat, feel free to just disregard. If it does happen to float your boat, please let me know how I did?

Crowley didn’t  _ really  _ mind sharing. Sure, any other situation and he’d love to have the lion’s share all to himself, sink into one of his many vices and allow himself to be greedy, just for once (for always). But when there was so much to share he didn’t mind letting someone else have a slice of the pie.

Especially not when he also had that someone else. Two proverbial pies. Pie metaphors suited the situation just to his liking.

“Cassie, darling, your simple syrup is boiling.” The  _ darling _ was drawled, like it was meant to be sarcastic. It wasn’t. But images had to be maintained- his penchant for drama and needling had to be maintained.

“It’s meant to.” Came the gruff reply from the living room.

Crowley hummed. “No, it’s supposed to simmer. You’ll burn it.” He said slowly, picking up the recipe quick enough for the sound of paper moving through air to be audible. A hint. 

“...Would you turn it down, then?” And there it was. Exasperation, emotion in a sea of monotone angel. Crowley lived for moments like this. 

“They’re your poached pears. I wouldn’t want to interfere.” The demon smirked. Ah, the pièce de résistance. Revenge for being told to keep his nose out of the angel’s cooking last week. Of course, it had helped that he’d turned the dial on the stove from a ‘medium high’ to a ‘high’. Small price to pay for glorious self satisfaction. 

Castiel let out a long sigh through his nose and carefully set down the fork he had pinched between forefinger and thumb. “Why do we-“ He closed his eyes for a few moments and without another word, appeared in the kitchen next to Crowley. “You turned it up.” He said slowly.

“No, I rather think you must have brushed past it on your way out.” Crowkey hummed, slowly wrapping an arm around Castiel’s waist and reveling in the soft contact.

“...No, I think you turned it up.” Castiel mumbled, but there wasn’t any anger in his tone. Instead he gave the barest hint of a fond smile. “So why do you want me in here, Crowley?”

“What, you think I want to see you?” Crowley scoffed, eyes flickering red for a moment before he grinned. “I’m thinking of a surprise, for later tonight.” He hummed. “Involving a few containers of whipped cream and chocolate syrup. Thoughts?”

Castiel drew his lower lip between his teeth for a second and nodded gaze smoldering with suddenly lustful intensity as he slowly turned down the stovetop and gave the pears, soaked in thickening ginger-honey syrup, a few pokes with the end of a fork. “And that’s all?” He arched a brow.

“Of course not. I always have a second, more ulterior, ulterior motive. You’re taking over the pecan pie while I take your place with our human.” Somehow Crowley always managed to look like the cat that caught the canary. Always smug, always self assured.

Castiel blinked. “No, Crowley-“

Crowley didn’t strictly need to teleport himself. It was a forty-five second walk from the kitchen to the sitting room, but he was always one for theatrics. 

“Hello, love.” Crowley hummed as he appeared sitting next to Dean. The happy, sedate smile the ex-hunter gave in reply was enough to melt his shriveled heart.

“Heya, Crowley.” Dean hummed, stretching a little before relaxing back. It had been five years of domestic bliss with the two entities, of no hunting, of not even looking for cases- and it definitely showed. Showed in how he took up damn near half the couch all on his own, in how his gut had to rest on his thighs, in how he, Dean-fucking-Winchester, poster boy of the denim and flannel look, had given up on denim and flannels. At least, on buttoned flannels.

“How are we doing out here, hm?” Crowley asked, picking up the neglected plate of cherry pie (baked yesterday) and offering it.

“Good. Good,” Dean took a sip of his beer and chuckled. “You two are gonna feed me into a heart attack, I swear to God,” He shook his head, nudging the plate away.

Crowley leaned against Dean’s side, nearly shuddered at how right the contained softness of the man’s frame felt against his own. “Cas would heal you.” He reasoned. “Not as if you could die, anyways. Have I ever told you how our contract works?” He asked, eyes glinting.

Dean’s lips bowed up in a smile. “Once or twice. I’ll indulge you again.” Crowley liked talking about it. It’s genius, his genius, his past contracts as well. He could go on for hours, and Dean had learned how to tune out (but nod respectfully to) his monologues years before they started fucking, started having a relationship.

“Well, darling,” Crowley hummed, leaning in to kiss at Dean’s neck, teeth scraping across soft, freckled skin, “Every ten years, I’ll make another deal with you. You’ll sell me your soul all over again,” Another kiss. “But Crowley, you might say, ‘I can’t sell my soul to you twice. That’s, hm’,” Crowley tilted his head up to peck at Dean’s cheek. “Double dipping’. But I can. There’s a little loophole, you can sell me...part of your soul. Let’s come up with an arbitrary fraction- you can sell me exactly one half of your soul. Demons got greedy in the Middle Ages, wanted to put a claim on everything, and humans- well, if you tell them it’s only half they seem to think that means there’s a chance for heaven. There isn’t. So more deals, multiple demons can have claim to a soul, a very lovely, but convoluted system.” 

He drifted across to capture Dean’s lips in a slow kiss, tasted cherry filling and sweetness, before he pulled back again. “You might think that gives us only twenty years.” He really liked getting into the minutia. Dean was focused on the smell of the pecan pie from the kitchen.

“But I’ve only taken half. Half of the remaining soul is one quarter of the whole thing, half of that an eighth, on and on and on  _ ad infinitum. _ You can always split something, no matter how small the bloody thing gets. It’ll still be inside you, just..with my name written all over it. Just like Cas has got this,” And then his hand was on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing at the raised scar of Castiel’s handprint through the fabric of his shirt.

Dean groaned softly. 

“So we go on. For infinity, and I can write anything into that little contract. No aging, no grey hairs, no wrinkles, no sagging- well, no more sagging than you already have. No joint pain. Mobility.” Crowley smiled fondly. “So you don’t need to be worried about a heart attack. Eat your damn pie.”

“Crowley,” Dean breathed, turning his head to look down at the demon and  _ fuck _ , the way his half smile dimpled his fat cheeks was fucking perfect. “Feed me?” And there was a barely there whine to his voice, a soft pout to his plush lips, and Crowley was half hard in his slacks.

“With pleasure.” Crowley hummed, picking up the discarded fork and plate and,

“Crowley. The thermometer says it’s at 200 degrees.”

Crowley’s shoulders slumped. “Bloody hell angel, can’t you take the pie out?” He called.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin it.” Castiel sniped.

“You’re using the fucking remote thermometer on  _ pie _ ?” Dean scoffed, grinning.

“It’s essentially a custard in a pie shell, if it doesn’t hit 200 it won’t set up right.” Crowley muttered, shaking his head. “Next time we won’t use it and see how you like pecan  _ pudding  _ pie.”

“Dude, I’d love that.”

“Shut up, Dean.” Crowley swept to his feet and into the kitchen, leaving the man alone.

“204,”

“Shuddup, Cas,” Crowley opened the oven and crouched down, pulling out the pie with his bare hands and setting it on the cooling rack. “Well. Doesn’t that just look wonderful?” He hummed, pulling the thermometer out. 

“I’m sure Dean will love it.” Castiel hummed, arm wrapping around Crowley’s waist.

“And how are your pears?”

“Not as soft as I would like them to be. I’m not sure about the recipe.” Castiel frowned, brow knit.

“What, because it’s a white wine? They’ll turn out fine, just a little lighter, and the cubed ginger will end up candied, little bits of spice in the syrup, probably chewy, it will be divine. And Dean will eat near anything we put in front of him.” Crowley reassured.

“Except for the sushi.”

“Except for the sushi.” Crowley echoed. “He at least tried it.”

“Barely.”

“How was I to know he wouldn’t like it?”

“He’s  _ Dean _ . He isn’t exactly the sushi...type.”

“Well, I-“

“Finished it quite handily, I remember.” Castiel hummed. “Makes me wonder about ulterior motives.”

“Oh, so it’s not just Dean you like to watch eat, is it?” Crowley arched a brow, leaning just slightly into the angel’s hold.

“I thought that was a given.”

Crowley blinked. He’d thought this was  _ his _ little wayward kink they’d manage to foster and feed into a lifestyle, that Castiel would be happy with whatever they did with Dean so long as the human was cared for- and now, very well fed. Profound bond and all that. Not something Castiel shared in.

“Why would I have done this with you and Dean if I didn’t want it? Didn’t...like it, enjoy it? I have found, that I like seeing people cared for. And what is care if not food? If not cooking, if not seeing the effects of that...care?”

Crowley bit his lip, hand slowly trailing down until he was gripping Castiel through his slacks and wringing a low groan from the angel. “You’re hard enough to cut diamonds, Cas. Don’t know if that’s care so much as lust, now.”

“Why not both?”

“Hm. Both is good.” Crowley snapped the fingers of his free hand, bridging the gap of the pie from ‘steaming hot pecan filled napalm’ to ‘pleasantly warm’. “Your pears look just about done, darling. They’ll soften more as they cool.”

Castiel poked a pear once more with his fork, eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’re right.” He murmured, taking the saucepan off of the heat as he transferred the pears to a plate to sit. “Should I let the syrup keep going?”

“Yeah, just let it go at a simmer, it’ll thicken up nicely, I reckon. Now. Let’s slice up the pie, get back to the sitting room…”

Castiel hummed and nodded, taking out the chef’s knife from the block and carefully cutting the pie. Not that it mattered. Most of it was going to the same place anyways. “You should have a slice, as well.” 

Crowley held Castiel’s gaze for a few moments, before giving a slight nod. “Of course. I made it, after all.” He picked up the tin and slowly walked back out.

The television wasn’t on. It used to be, a lot, especially as Dean’s lifestyle took a trend for more sedentary pastures. But he liked to read, now. Now that he wasn’t always bone tired, wasn’t always just needing a break. It was relaxing. So he was working his way through Poe’s works, at Crowley’s request (and Sam’s smugness, whenever they texted. It was always ‘you should have read this in highschool’. In highschool Dean had been far more concerned about his brother being safe than schoolwork that didn’t matter because they were never in one place more than a month, anyways).

“Hello again, Dean.” Crowley hummed, sitting on his end of the couch and shifting to make room for Castiel as the angel took his place between his two lovers. 

He liked watching Dean eat for a few reasons. One was the measure of pride, in that  _ that  _ was what was making him bigger, that he’d contributed. Of course, it also helped that Dean was so vocal. Appraising hums and groans of satisfied pleasure as he stuffed his face. “God, Crowley, you outdid yourself on this one.” Dean breathed, stifling a belch with the back of his hand. 

“Please,” Crowley hummed, cutting himself a forkful and bringing it up to his lips. “You flatter me.”

Watching Crowley eat was different. It was delicate, relaxation, the demon perfectly at ease. Not over eating. Over indulging, more like, because it was always rich, always exquisite, always tasteful. Stuffed quail, lamb, steak, tarts and creme brûlée and things he never would have heard of, much less had, as a human but he gladly partook in the luxury of now. Watching Crowley really enjoy himself brought him the same, if not more, satisfaction, than watching, and feeding, Dean.

The pie tin was empty faster than usual; Dean’s book laying open, face down on the table as the ex-hunter relaxed back and rested his hands on his gut, groaning. 

And then Castiel was gently pushing his hands aside, his own kneading into soft exposed flesh; rubbing, massaging, touching all over. Wasn’t as if his shirt covered it anyways with the way it rode up two inches above his navel, it wasn't as if it didn’t feel amazing after a meal of warm pie.

“Mmnh, Cas,” Dean arched his back, stomach wobbling slightly as he stretched. 

“Yes?” Castiel hummed, kneading his hands slightly and delighted at the pleased whine it earned him. 

“More,” Dean said simply. It could mean anything from ‘just keep going’ to ‘let’s make it a little more sexy’.

Crowley sensed that it was the latter. So, in an instant, he was kneeling between Dean’s plush thighs and pushing his colossal stomach up so he could reach his already hard cock.

Dean let out a choked groan when he felt Crowley’s mouth on his dick, a whine at his belly being forced up. Castiel’s hands were at the ready, still soothing and rubbing and in a few moments, the angel’s lips were pressed against his. 

Crowley took Dean to the root with relative ease; he didn’t need to breathe, after all. Nose buried in pubic hair, he groaned, hollowing his cheeks and tracing his tongue along the vein on the underside of Dean’s cock.

Dean came after a few minutes of focused attention, giving his hips barely there little thrusts as he spilled himself down Crowley’s throat and groaned, panting and huffing and letting out a brief series of little hiccups.

They ended up bringing it to the bedroom right then and there, Castiel flying them in half a second. 

The bed was wide enough for the three of them one and a half times over- but Crowley figured they’d more than likely need a new one in the coming year. 

“Should we-“ Castiel started,

“Oh, yes, I think we can have our treat a little early, hm?” Crowley hummed, smirking slightly. “I want you on your hands and knees, Dean.” He said as he snapped his fingers, stripping the human of his clothes without any effort. 

“You two have something planned?” Dean asked, shifting onto his stomach and groaning softly. Hands and knees, really, was more, ‘hands and gut with your legs spread as far as they can go’, because trying to get onto his knees ended up with them digging uncomfortably into the bottom of his gut. 

“Don’t we always?” Castiel cocked his head to the side and smiled, tilting Dean’s chin up and looking down at him. 

Crowley chuckled as he spread Dean’s cheeks, teasing lube-slicked fingers against his hole. Dean whined, and then moaned, pressing his hips back. 

“Ah- just take it. You’ll have more exciting things to do soon enough.” Another click of Crowley’s fingers and a plastic bag crinkled into existence on the bed, next to Castiel.

“Is that-“

“You seemed to enjoy it so much last time.” Castiel hummed, reaching in and taking out the bright red can of whipped cream and popping the top off as his free hand reached down to unzip his slacks and hitch them down to his mid-thigh.

The  _ kshht _ of the canister was all they could hear for a moment, drowning out Dean’s groans and the wet sloppy noises of Crowley’s fingers in his ass. 

The whipped cream was cold on his cock and balls, made him shift back a little only to immediately be pressed after.

Dean’s mouth was heaven. Soft, wet heat, perfect pressure, his throat twitching and his cheeks hollowed and his tongue lapping away the pillowy drifts of cream. It dropped down his chin, covered his upper lip, and he was moaning like a wanton whore the whole way through. And that was before Crowley had his cock inside him. 

When Crowley  _ did  _ thrust in, all ten and a half inches, Dean keened. Jerked, belly and every other soft inch of him jiggling with each rough snap of the demon’s hips. 

Choking on Castiel’s cock, occasionally being pulled away so the angel could coat it in more whipped cream, shaking and moaning with each of Crowley’s thrusts, it was a wonder he lasted as long as he did.

But after he came they always kept going. 

Crowley showed no signs of slowing when Dean’s hole spasmed and clenched around him, Castiel kept slowly rocking his hips forwards and giving light tugs and pulls to Dean’s hair as he did.

And when Dean was finally spent, when the only noise he was capable of making tired whines, Crowley let himself go and came with a moan that bordered on a scream; kept moving his hips as he filled Dean up. Like a creme puff. He would have laughed at the analogy if he wasn’t so swept up in pleasure. 

Castiel came after him, pulling back so that he could coat Dean’s face in his release. 

They lay there for a while after that. Dean still panting heavily, eyes half closed, Castiel curled around one side of him and Crowley the other. At one point the angel’s grace swept over the three of them, clearing away mess and easing aches and any soreness that may have remained.

“We should have Sam over.” Crowley murmured absently. “It’s been a few months.”

“I dunno.” Dean sighed, stifling a yawn. “Dunno, if, uh,”

“You’d want him to see you like this.” Castiel finished, cocking his head to the side and cupping Dean’s cheek. “You’re happy. Thanks to Crowley’s…” His nose wrinkled slightly, almost involuntarily, “Deals, and my grace, you’re healthy, despite it all. There’s no shame in this. And with the way…”

“With the way Lucifer dotes on him and the way Gabriel feeds him, I think he may very well be in a similar boat.” Crowley chuckled, leaning in to kiss at Dean’s neck. 

“Mm.” Dean sighed heavily, relaxing back and closing his eyes. “I’ll text him. See what we can do.” Castiel suddenly stiffened and he frowned. “Cas?”

“ _ Syrup _ .”

“Fuck.” Crowley echoed Castiel’s thoughts precisely as the angel vanished to try to save what would by then have been a very, very reduced (burnt) ginger syrup.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry


End file.
